He raised his arms and put his hands behind his head. His T-shirt raised slightly and I saw abs, not obsessively over-cooked abs, but ones that looked like they were gained from sport as opposed to the gym. I bit my bottom lip.
“I can try that. I’m not sure he’s looking for a quick fix though.”
“Does he need the money?”
Owen shook his head. “Not really. He receives drawings from Cases and he has other cash besides that. He buys businesses that are struggling and turns them around then sells them on. He’s also a bit of hippy, which is a bit of a fucking contradiction. That’s how he and my mother met.”
“She’s a hippy too? Or did she own a business?”
His eyes shone, dancing with amusement. “She manages one of my bookstores now, but before that she was a hippy, as in Stonehenge and New Age. She ran a business selling healing crystals and is a Reiki master and that was how they met—she realigned his chakras. If you end up meeting her, she’ll probably try to realign yours—they’re clearly out of synch.”
I didn’t have to try to muster a glare. “There’s nothing wrong with my chakras, whatever the hell they are. Leave them be.” My door swung open and Phillip entered with the coffee and pastries. “You’re officially my favourite person,” I said to his quickly retreating back.
“Let’s see about that during your next crisis,” Phillip said.
If Owen hadn’t been there I’d have lobbed my stapler at the door as he shut it. However, I was trying to demonstrate some degree of professionalism.
I poured the coffee and picked the apple Danish before he could as there was only one and it had been calling my name since it had been brought through the door. If it had been a normal potential client, I’d have been far more gracious and probably not even eaten in front of them, but for some reason my brain wouldn’t associate him as being that.
“Hungry much?”
I nodded, my mouth too full to reply.
He smirked annoyingly and picked up the cherry Danish. I had half expected him to skip the pastries given that he had the body of someone who spent time exercising and was therefore irritatingly healthy. “I like it when a woman has an appetite.”
I was pretty sure he was flirting. “If I ever tried to curb my appetite there would probably be a petition and trucks delivering cakes. I get ridiculously hangry. Hence I get my money’s worth from my gym membership.”
He chewed thoughtfully. “That’s balance. You don’t look like you have a cake addiction.”
“Is that a compliment or are you just creeping to get back in my good books after Saturday and because you need some legal work doing?”
“And I thought I was being subtle.” He polished off the rest of the pastry. “I’m sorry for being a dick. It was a bad day, not that it’s a good excuse. How long are you free for?”
I thanked the gods of coffee and the patron saint of caffeine for all things holy, as I was starting to grasp some clarity. “You’re forgiven. I wasn’t exactly polite back.”
“Be honest though: you wanted a picture for your Instagram, didn’t you?” he said, his tone like liquid chocolate: smooth and moreish. “I understand. My shops are pretty fucking amazing.”
Then I laughed, almost choking on my coffee and the tension that had been building for the past few weeks started to leave my body.
“What did I say?” he said, his palms upwards, questioning.
“You didn’t. Well, you kind of did. I’ve never thought of bookshops as being “fucking amazing”.” I studied him, trying to read his eyes to find out how much praise I could give him without his ego exploding. “Although the two I’ve been are fecking spectacular.”
His smile was genuine, like a child who had just been told he’d won a colouring competition. “You think so? What do you like about them?”
“They make me feel like I’m stepping into another world. They could be from a book themselves, like Harry Potter or something else fantastical. It’s the dark wood and the high ceilings. I could spend a day in one,” I confessed. I’d loved books since childhood. My big brothers and sister used to read to me, sometimes fighting about whose turn is was to read a bedtime story to me and Seph but my favourite had been when our father read to me. At first I remember his voice being stilted, as if he was reading a case file—although that wasn’t how I described it back then. I’d complained to my mother that he wasn’t as good as her or even Max at reading and he’d overheard me. Years later, he told me he started to listen to Max reading and Jackson, then he practiced reading to Ava using different voices and then he became my favourite.
Books had been my escape and there was nothing I wouldn’t try reading. Spending a day in a bookstore was as much of a relaxing fantasy as spending a day at the spa. “I don’t see you as a bookstore mogul though.”
He leaned further across the desk towards me. “Why’s that?”
“Because you don’t look like a bookstore owner. Even with the Harry Potter glasses.”
“I take it you’re a fan of all things Hogwarts?”
I nodded. “Actually, that’s a good idea for a present.” He looked confused. “Sorry, my sister’s due to have her first child any moment and I didn’t know what to get as a present—a set of Potter hardbacks would be perfect.”
“When’s your next meeting?”
